Wearing My Art on My Sleeve
by Solynna
Summary: There's nothing more liberating than baring your heart, whether through words or ice sculptures. Elsa reaches out to a young woman in need of a friend, and falls in love. OC provided, but this is all about Elsa. Ch2: Elsa tells Anna she's in love. Silliness ensues. Ch3: Elsa visits her ice castle for a day to clear her troubled thoughts. Ch4: True love heals the hurt.
1. Wearing My Art on My Sleeve

Author's Note: I'm positing that figure skating hasn't been invented by the time of _Frozen_. They have chocolate, but not steam power, so maybe it has, maybe it hasn't.

* * *

_Wearing My Art on My Sleeve_

Summer is the best time of year to go ice skating. It's been almost a year since I was able to use my magic in public like this, and since then skating in the palace courtyard has been a weekly event, even in winter when the lakes were frozen and my magic wasn't necessary. I've made friends this way, more friends than I've ever had before, and honestly, I just feel happy when I use my magic. In the short moments away from my responsibilities I create sculptures, mostly flowers and animals, and on more relaxed days I engrave various scenes of my imagining across all the walls and floors, framed by kaleidoscopic fractal patterns. I'm always experimenting with new forms of art, new forms of expression. Magic is a way of baring my heart, showing something fundamental to me in a way that I could never fully express in words.

When I think back to the time before, when my parents made me deny that part of me, hide what I am, deceive those I care about, and lock my true self away… I resent those years. But thinking back on them has yielded a valuable insight. I keep another secret, and tonight it will come out of that stifling, little room that holds all my most painful memories.

The palace gate opens, and I see the shadow of the guard waving my guest through. Fair and slender, with blue eyes and long, brown hair loose down her back, lightly dressed for a cool, summer evening, this is Nora, a woman my age with whom I've become very dear friends over the past few months. When I first spoke to her last year she told me that, in between working to help support her family, she was caretaker for her ailing father and that she found skating at the palace to be a relaxing way to take her mind off her worries. Over the winter and spring months I have allowed her to skate here in the evenings alone, and since her father's passing a few weeks ago she has come almost every night. Sometimes I join her, sometimes I watch her, and sometimes I give her privacy. She's taught herself some remarkable dance-like moves, spins and leaps and twists. I often wonder if she simply enjoys this for its own sake, or if it's how she expresses herself. Is she expressing her grief, or the part of her that is not grief?

She smiles when she sees me sitting on one of the benches I had moved here specifically for skaters needing rest. She waves before approaching at a jog.

"Good evening, Nora."

She curtseys. "Good evening, Your Majesty." She always insists on addressing me this way at least in greeting. Thereafter I've insisted that she speak to me as a friend. "Are you joining me tonight?"

Skating is too light-hearted for the things that weigh me down this particular evening. "I would just like to watch, if that's alright."

She happily assents.

"I do have something special planned for tonight, though," I say, taking to my feet and rushing to the middle of the courtyard as it rapidly freezes over in a solid sheet.

She follows on skates made of ice.

To each corner of the courtyard I add an ice sculpture – a life-size depiction of Nora, each from a different dance. Gliding with one leg straight up in the air, body parallel to the ground, arms out like an eagle's wings. Leaning forward and reaching straight back to grip one foot by the blade and hold it as high as possible. Kicking one foot out and spreading her arms wide in a cheerful, "ta-dah" sort of way she does sometimes after a move she's particularly proud of. Standing tall and confident, one hand on her hip and the other blowing a kiss to an imaginary crowd, which she only does when she thinks I'm not looking.

"These are of me?"

I laugh. "There's no one else who dances like you do."

"No," she immediately protests, "I'm not as good…" She eyes the crowd-kissing one from top to bottom and back. "Or as graceful or beautiful as all that."

She is to me.

"I think you are," I whisper, maybe too quiet for her to hear.

"Well, thank you," she says, gaze still fixed on her frozen figure.

There's something else I want to say here, but I…

"Is this really how you see me?" she asks.

"Yes."

Just say it.

"I actually, um…"

Just say the first word and the rest will follow.

"I practiced all week to get every detail just right."

Not that!

"Wow," she says. "I, I'm honored."

I know I can say it.

"There's something else I want to talk to you about."

She turns back to me with a curious look. "Yes?"

I'm trembling. I don't want to do this anymore. "We can discuss it later. You go ahead and skate."

Letting go is terrifying. If I hadn't been outed against my will at my coronation, I'd still be repressed and miserable.

She gives me a lengthy, worried look before starting her warm-up. She always starts with her footwork, crossing blade over blade, lunges, loopy S's and figure eights, switching her footing as frequently as she can, turning between forward and backward rapidly without changing direction or losing momentum. Gradually she adds the hand motions, twists, kicks, and flourishes that change it from drill to dance. I don't know how she makes it so beautiful; I've tried copying her and I feel like I'm flailing gracelessly. Not to mention her jumps and spins, which are beyond my athletic ability. She doesn't do them often, though, as she doesn't like the added risk of falling, especially when she knows I'm watching.

I have an idea. Next to the sculpture of Nora blowing a kiss I add another figure. I'm a lot slower sculpting this one since I'm making it up as I go, but she'll be here another half hour or so and I think I can finish something passable by then. I start out with a mannequin-like base, with one hand holding Nora's and the other on its heart. I give it simple clothing lacking in detail, and mittens to save time on the hands. I put far more detail into its face and hair, as that's what will make it recognizable.

It's mostly a rough draft sort of thing, and I can add to it later, but for now Nora finishes earlier than expected.

"You weren't watching," she says, slightly out of breath. "What are you working on?"

I step back to reveal a sculpture of myself smiling gently at her. "I wanted to make one of your father. I wish I'd met him."

"You've done so much for me already. I'm grateful."

"I know I've already asked you this, but if you ever want an audience, or maybe some musicians…"

She shakes her head. "I don't do this for other people to watch."

"You like it when I watch."

She shrugs. "You're my friend."

"About that…" I lock eyes with hers. I'm hesitating too long and holding my breath to conceal how hard my heart is pounding. I'm about to jump off a cliff and this is my last chance to turn back.

She tilts her head quizzically. "Elsa?"

"I" feels like a ten mile run and "love you" like the last step off the cliff's edge.

"You love me?" she repeats.

I nod.

She smiles, takes my hands in hers, and invites me to dance.

* * *

Author's Note: As someone who once spent time in the closet, Elsa's story felt painfully familiar. It hurts to have to hide a fundamental part of who you are. Here's to every girl who is free to express herself, and every girl who isn't. If you have any suggestions on how I can improve this piece or my writing style, please leave a review! Don't hold back; you won't hurt my feelings.


	2. Who-Izzies

"What do you have planned for today, Elsa?" asks Anna from across the table, before taking a bite of blueberry crepe with syrup and crème.

A footman takes away Kristoff's plate, and I signal him to take my half-eaten breakfast as well.

"I have an important meeting with the privy council. I want you both to attend."

Anna and Kristoff look up in unison. "Is something the matter?" she asks. This is the first time I've asked Kristoff to attend official business, and by the look on his face he's already dreading it.

"No, no." A footman offers a dish of rose water to wash my hands, which I do quickly before dismissing the staff so we can speak in private. "It has to do with your marriage."

"You said before that there wouldn't be any legal problems," says Anna.

"This is more of a personal matter."

"Then what does this meeting have to do with it?" asks Kristoff accusingly.

I look to Kristoff, then to Anna. "You two plan to have children, correct?"

They nod.

I take a deep breath. Though this is a path I am delighted to go down, I am nervous to commit myself to it so irreversibly. "I want to know if the two of you would be comfortable if I had the succession passed through your line."

Anna is curious. Kristoff is confused.

"I want your firstborn son to become king when I die."

"You aren't going to have any children?" asks Anna.

In my firmest voice I reply simply, "No." That decision is final, and they need to know that.

Anna's face flies through a dozen different emotions, all of them involving puppy-dog eyes. "Wha… But… Nieces!"

I shake my head. Anna's dream of being the fun aunt must be sacrificed on the altar of Absolutely Not. "If you consent, I'll inform the privy council today that I plan to sign a succession act."

Anna looks to me pleadingly, and then to Kristoff for help. "But…"

Kristoff folds his arms and says sagely, "It's not my decision."

I stand. "This would be a serious responsibility for you as parents. I'll let you discuss it."

I head for the door, but Anna leaps to block my way. After giving herself a minute for sad staring and silent contemplation, she asks, "Why? You've been talking to people and making friends – why are you closing yourself off again?"

I hadn't meant to give that impression. It's no wonder she's worried. "I'm doing no such thing. That's not what this is about."

"It isn't?" She takes my hand. "Then tell me."

Equal parts nervous and embarrassed, I stare out the window for need of breaking eye contact. It's best to take this next part one slow step at a time. "I'm in love."

Kristoff and I both jump at the sound of Anna's ear-piercing, avalanche-inducing squeal of joy. "Ow," he says, covering his ears to block out a flurry of oh-my-gosh-oh-my-gosh-oh-my-goshes and who-is-he-who-is-he-who-izzies.

"Anna. Anna!" I put my hand on her shoulder to stop her from jumping up and down, which she takes as an invitation to hug me. Intensely. It's an intense hug.

"I am so happy for you right now," she says.

"I can tell."

"What does that have to do with our kid being king?" asks Kristoff wearily, trying to get us back on topic.

"The one I love," I say slowly, "cannot father children."

An understatement.

Kristoff stands solemnly and Anna moves for another hug. I wave her off. "It's fine. I want none anyway."

"I don't think we need any time to decide," says Anna, as they share an understanding look. "Our son will be heir to the throne."

They really didn't have any choice in the matter. It's not as if I'd have a child just because they were uncomfortable raising a crown prince. But at least they won't think I thrust a major responsibility on them without their consent.

I nod. "Good. We'll draw up the succession act at the privy council meeting. It's mostly a formality, but if a rival claimant tries to take the throne it will give your son a little extra legitimacy."

I reach for the door but Anna interposes herself once again. Interposing seems to be a talent of hers. "Sooo," she says expectantly. "When can I meet your true love?"

Oh dear. This can only reach an awkward conclusion.

"You, uh, have met already, actually. Skating in the courtyard."

"What's his name?"

I look to Kristoff as if he can somehow help me, but the trauma of being trapped during girl talk has caused him to start stress eating Anna's unfinished breakfast. Or he's just ignoring us.

"Andersen." Technically true. Nora Andersen.

As I know no men named Andersen, naturally she would be confused. "Describe him."

"Uh, white?" I bolt for the door, only to be firmly gripped by the wrist.

In that childish voice that comes naturally when using both pouty lip and puppy-dog eyes in conjunction she says, "Please, Elsa. I just want to be a part of your life and know that you're happy."

I sigh and tangle my fingers in my hair. "Tall. Athletic. Long, brown hair. Blue eyes." Female. "May I go now? I have business."

"Athletic? What's his favorite sport?"

"Skating."

"What's his favorite food?"

"I don't know."

"What's his favorite color?"

"I don't know."

"Foot size?" supplies Kristoff.

With her hands on her hips and frustration in her voice, Anna seethes, "Foot size doesn't matter!"

"That's not what you said on our wedding night," he mumbles.

Neither Anna nor I understand this non-sequitur. It certainly amuses him. Probably an inside joke meant for a reindeer.

"Look," she says to me, "if this is someone who can make you happy, I want to know him." My discomfort must show on my face, because she adds, "At least tell me his name. Please?"

Well, that's that. I never had a chance of getting away without telling her. I take a deep breath, and let it go. "Nora."

"I'm sure he's lovely," she says, putting a reassuring hand on my shoulder, "even if he has a girl's name."

"Anna?" says Kristoff. "I think she means –"

He is interrupted by a loud gasp, and a chorus of oh-my-gosh-oh-my-gosh-oh-my-goshes and new-sister-new-sister-new-sisters.

How am I supposed to introduce anyone to these people? One talks to reindeer, and the other… the reindeer would think she's weird.

* * *

Authors Note: I hadn't planned on adding a second chapter, and I definitely don't plan on adding a third. Romantic comedy isn't my natural genre, so this is as far as I want to go. But if you have any suggestions for how to improve this piece or my writing style, please leave a review. I really appreciate your time, even if you only name one thing I did well/poorly.


	3. Magnum Opus

Author's Note: This one might be a little depressing. Rating increased to T.

* * *

I had forgotten how beautiful it is. I had a reason not to come back here, but clearly that was a mistake. The castle looks pristine, just as pure as when I built it, only a thin layer of snow able to stick to its crystalline slopes and narrow spires. I think it was most beautiful near sunset, when it reflected the sky's reds, pinks, purples, and blues. But the golden glow of the midday sun that I see now is… happy. Cheerful. I chose this spot so that the cliff face would block the view of Arendelle, but now I wish everyone in Arendelle could simply look up and see it.

Closer up, I can see a path worn through the snow, as if someone walked through this area frequently. The ice bridge across the chasm has no snow on it at all. They shoveled.

I pause with my hand on the tall, glassy doors, decorated with a single, huge snowflake. I made these doors to be ominous – several stories tall, sharp, angular. Could someone really be living here?

I knock. No answer. I enter.

The entrance hall is massive and bare, its only decoration a fountain in the center. The three-tiered fountain is made completely of ice, each basin a flowery snowflake shape and its "waters" made of wind-chime-like chains of arrow-shaped ice shards. The fountain is certainly beautiful, but the sparseness of the rest of the room makes it feel even lonelier. The twin staircases that ring the room are elegant but simple, the handrails supported by repeating, W-shaped lattices.

A loud, deep voice echoes from the floor above. "Who's there?"

"My name is Elsa."

A great, snowy arm squeezes through the doorway at the top of the stairs, and its owner, a massive, hulking snow giant, slides sideways onto the staircase. The bodyguard I created to keep Anna out.

"Elsa!" he shouts, with a smile wider than I am tall. His sprint down the stairs makes the whole building shake.

"Woah, woah, wait!" I scream as he charges right for me. "Oh!"

He picks me up with both hands and presses me against his chest, which is his way of hugging, I guess. He's much softer than I thought – I remember there being sharp icicles sticking out him. Now there are none. Lifting me up to eye level he says, "I waited for you."

"You must have been very…"

Is he wearing my tiara?

"That is, you must have been very lonely."

He puts me down. "No. My big brother visits me."

I quickly brush the snow off my clothes. "Big brother?"

"His name's Olaf."

That's adorable. "Then I'm happy for you, um… I don't believe we've been formally introduced."

"I'm Marshmallow."

What. Marshmallow? I don't even…

"That's a fine name you chose for yourself, Marshmallow."

"Olaf named me," he says proudly.

Ah.

"Why did you come back?" he asks.

"Something bad happened. I need some time alone to think."

I could almost laugh at the absurdity of a snow giant with a concerned look on his face.

"What happened?"

"I was in a relationship with someone. When her family found out, they threatened to disown her. Now she won't speak to me."

"That must hurt you," says Marshmallow in the softest growl he's capable of.

"Yes, well, like I said, I just need some time alone to think."

"I can help!" he says eagerly. "I'm a good listener."

This is bizarre. I sigh. "She was living with her parents so she could take care of her sick father. Now that he's passed away, there's no reason for her to stay. She can support herself – she's more than old enough. Not only is her mother's threat emotional blackmail, it's also toothless! Why would she cave to that?"

"You think she should leave. Forget her mother."

"Yes! Threats and ultimatums aren't love! What we have is love!"

"You want to be more important to her than her mother is."

That's… That's not it. No. "That's not what I said! Even if her mother thinks this is in her best interest, what she's doing is obviously wrong on its face! What kind of parent forces her child to deny a part of herself that makes her happy and lie about who she really is?!"

Mine. My parents did almost exactly that.

"Maybe–"

"Don't talk to me!" I scream. "I want to be alone! Get out! Get out!" When he hesitates I stamp my foot, a ring of icicles erupting from the floor. "Out!"

There he goes. And now I've kicked him out of his own home, for trying to help me. Great. I came here to think. I shouldn't have. I understood it all too well already.

I take the stairs, and I focus as hard as I can on each individual step, like I won't be able to think anything else if I just think about stairs.

Step.

Step.

Step.

Step.

Step.

I'm such a fool.

Step.

The upstairs is mostly as I remember it. Marshmallow seems to have cleaned it up. All the pieces of the broken chandelier and the balcony doors are gone. The floors and the walls have been scraped clean where I defaced them with spikes and barriers.

I want to feel what I felt before. I felt free, for the first time in over a decade. I felt untouchable, invincible. As long as I was free, as long as I was myself… no one could stop me. No one could hurt me. And as I built this beautiful castle, as this beautiful thing came from my heart, I felt like I was someone beautiful. Not someone who needed to be hidden, even if the reason I came was to hide.

My parents made me hide. They loved me. They thought my safety was the most important thing in the world. Their love, their care, their sacrifice… ruined thirteen years of my life. My bedroom was a prison and my gloves shackles. How could they love me so much and be so wrong, so catastrophically wrong? How can I love them so much, when they gave me more years of misery than joy?

I snap back to the present and notice I've been sculpting a malformed goblin wielding a crossbow. I kick it over and it breaks.

The thirteen years I was hidden, love did little to ease the agony of it. Once I was free, love meant everything. Nora needs to be Nora, or her mother's love will be meaningless. Maybe she knows that. Maybe she's trying to change her mother's mind by doing this.

So what can I do? I've been hurt by people who loved me and wanted to help.

I think…

I think the best I can do is tell her how I feel and wait for her to come to me for help.

I guess that's it. This was a much shorter visit than I expected. I'm in pain right now, but I've learned what I needed to learn and it's time to go home. As long I have love and self-acceptance on my side, nothing can hurt me. Not in the long run.

I catch Marshmallow fidgeting on the castle's front porch. "Sorry, Elsa," he says simply.

I feel terrible. "You've done nothing to be sorry for. You're a very noble and wise person, Marshmallow. I'm sorry I was mean to you. How can I make it up to you?"

"Visit?"

I smile.

* * *

Author's Note: Your words of encouragement were a factor in my decision to write this. I read all my reviews - there was one anti-gay rant that made me laugh. It's the tamest hate speech that's ever been directed at me in my life. But if you have any suggestions on how to improve this piece or my writing style, OR if you have any ideas for where I should take this fic next, you may leave a review.

Author's Other Note: In my headcanon, Elsa will make Marshmallow a combination sherpa/tour guide so that people can more easily visit the castle. Many years later it will be made a UNESCO World Heritage Site.


	4. Ice Queen, Nice Queen

Author's note: I haven't decided how much time elapses between each chapter. Chapter one was early summer and this is early winter, so the whole thing takes either six months or eighteen months, whichever you prefer.

* * *

The queen is falling asleep in public. This is most improper. I can't exactly leave and go to bed, though; people come to Skating with the Queen to, well, skate with the queen.

I look up at the sound of approaching skates. Anna. I lay my head back on the bench.

"Elsa?" she says.

"Nn."

"You're making it snow."

"No, that just happens in winter."

"Can you get rid of it? It's starting to build up on the ice."

"No," I lie.

"We'll have to end early today." She takes a seat next to me and says pointedly, "Then maybe you can get some rest."

"Has anyone noticed?"

I can practically hear her roll her eyes at me. "They noticed weeks ago. I'm running out of excuses."

While Skating with the Queen is supposed to be for fun, many people come to me with concerns about legal matters and other issues. I guess Anna has been covering for me more than I thought. I wrap one arm around her and rest my head on her shoulder. "Thank you, Anna."

"You could just get some sleep."

"The tax reforms need to be done long before next year's harvest season," is an excuse, "and the military reforms need to be in place as soon as possible," is also an excuse.

"I know. It's just that… you've really been overworking yourself ever since –"

"Stop," I say, suddenly very awake. "I'm dedicated, not distraught."

"I think you should talk to –"

"Enough!" I snap.

She grumbles something that I can't make out before she gets up and skates off.

I'll just rest my eyes a moment longer.

* * *

When I wake up all the clouds are sunset colors and I have a headache that's worse when I sit up. I groan, stretch, brush a layer of snow off my clothes, and then jump as someone next to me on the bench startles me by clearing her throat.

Nora quickly stands and curtsies. "Good evening, Your Majesty."

My frustration is probably as evident on my face as it is in my voice. "How long have you been there?"

"Not long. Anna…" She bites her lip nervously. "Her Royal Highness Anna sent for me."

I'll have to have a few unkind words with her later. "Did she say why?"

"She said that you needed to talk to me."

"I do not."

"Oh." She looks around uncomfortably before sitting back down. "If it pleases you, ma'am, I would like to speak."

"It's a little late for that."

"I wanted to come sooner, but I've been working a lot more, and after a while I guess I thought you wouldn't want to see me."

Then she has more sense than my sister.

"I…" she starts, "I've been thinking that –"

I interrupt, for the sake of antagonism. "How's your mother?"

"She came around. Sort of. Eventually. She won't trouble you anymore."

"I have much larger concerns than a single citizen's objections to my personal conduct," I say, as if it meant nothing.

"I meant that if we… if you wanted to…" She bows her head, probably to hide tears. Good. Maybe if she cries enough we'll be even.

I close my eyes and rub my temples. I need this headache to go away.

After a long silence I say, "Look. Before this all started, we were good friends. You had your skating, which really seemed to make you happy. Now… you can't skate here, we're not friends, we don't speak, and I'm sure your relationship with your mother has been permanently damaged. I'm hurt and angry, and it's affecting my work. It doesn't matter how we feel if we're both worse off than when we started. If we try again it'll end the same way."

"You told me that true love is what keeps your powers under control," she says. "Are you telling me you don't believe in it?"

"I learned the meaning of true love when my sister jumped in front of a sword to protect me. I'm protecting you by walking away." And I start walking, to add emphasis to my… overdramatic self-aggrandizement.

"Wait! Wait!" She runs after me. "I need to at least thank you for all you've done for me."

I might as well let her.

"When my father was ill, and after he died, you helped me get through it. And my mother… I needed to reason with her on her terms. If I had provoked her she would have shut me out and I would have lost her too. Thank you for staying out of it and letting me handle it my way. I know it was unfair of me to put you through that." She bows. "Thank you for all you've done for me." She holds her bow, waiting for me to say something or to leave, but I just stare. For what must be a very long time.

When her father fell ill, she worked extra hours to support her family financially, even as she spent more and more time caring for him, and all she asked in return was a few hours a week to be herself. And her response to a personal betrayal was forgiveness. She's humble. She's dedicated. She's compassionate. She's loyal. She's forgiving. Though her choices hurt me they were motivated by her strengths, not her faults.

She's inspiring.

I… I'm crying.

I lean down, wrap my arms around her, and let my tears spill into her shoulder. "Come inside, Nora. I want you to stay with me tonight."

* * *

Author's Note: And they lived mostly happily for an unspecified period of time after! This chapter is much shorter than I would have liked, but I struggled with it a lot because 1) it's totally unlike anything I've written before and 2) if I were in Elsa's position I would not take Nora back. What Nora did feels like an unforgivable betrayal to me, and I'm curious to know whether that feeling is specific to me or if other lesbians would feel the same way. And for that matter, would a straight person be more forgiving or less forgiving of something like that? Feel free to answer me in a review and while you're at it leave some suggestions for how to improve this chapter or my writing style.


End file.
